


Olympus Has Fallen (In Love)

by Othello



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othello/pseuds/Othello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Oval Tower, when Platinum Jail’s functions come to a halt and Toue Inc.’s influence fades, the President of the United States comes to the aid of the tiny island, where he meets a certain blue-haired adult. Sparks fly, and a heated relationship is formed. However, it’s common knowledge that this relationship, built on top of responsibility and clashing with overwhelming desire, will force them into a corner, where the ending was already decided. Even so, they will not let their sacrifices in the name of love be in vain. If they only have this much time, they will rejoice in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympus Has Fallen (In Love)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a 2013 birthday gift for my kouhai, merdafatua @ tumblr. I have lost all control of my life. Don't look at my shame :( This isn't even my final form, unfortunately. I wrote this in like an hour in notepad, so pls don't think this is my best effort. YOU WANTED IT, NOW HERE IT COMES. PREPARE YOUR ANUS, WE'RE GOING IN DRY.

the glorious president pushed him back onto the couch impatiently. the seragaki household was, thankfully, empty for the next half hour, which in both of the mens’ minds was not enough time. so the first kiss of many was passionate and ferocious, punctuated by lap grinding and throaty moans. it was clear who was taking charge here, with the dark-skinned adonis moving down on the paler (and squirming) body underneath him in a hurry, kissing the breastbone before continuing even lower. obama slid to the floor and onto his knees, peppering the exposed stomach before him with butterfly kisses to distract aoba as he unbuttoned his pants. 

mahogany and wisdom-scarred hands made their way to a firm, small butt and squeezed lightly, dragging manicured nails—god, who knew he would ever be grateful for the mandatory salon appointments his wife made him keep?—lightly across tender skin as pants were shoved down to the ground below. the leader of the free world kissed up the scrap-wielder’s legs as he removed the rest of both of their remaining clothing off of their bodies. his hands stroked the blue-haired male’s thighs while he playfully kissed his way back up to his hips. ever so slowly, those hands roamed over to not-the-only-hard penis in the room, accompanied by obama’s eyes slithering up to meet aoba’s, with raised brows. before, when obama had caught aoba masturbating in the bathroom, those white hands were barely large enough to circle around himself; but the westerner was quite a different story. just one hand was more than plenty to dwarf his whole cock, from the base to the head and beyond. the president must be as big as the jolly green giant, if his hands were this massive. nevertheless, they both wanted it. maybe even more now, with the size difference. 

he kissed the base and then tongued up to the seam slowly, feeling the younger man. making his way back down to the base, his hot, capitalist tongue swirled around and puckered lips applied little bullets of pressure around the shaft in no discernible pattern. it was obvious this was all done just to taste him, tease him. but they had no real time for that, not with the secret service waiting barely a few yards away, outside the front door (no doubt having a tough time holding back the other resident of the household). for this meeting, they would have to be as swift as a coursing river.

as his mouth neared the tip of his engorged penis again, there was a devious smile on the older gentleman, before his lips parted and the head was engulfed by moist heat. that alone made aoba gasp out loud, and push up immediately to get more of that hotness. obama’s tongue roved around the meat wand in his mouth, as one of his hands worked the parts of his shaft that were not being treated to a good tongue workout. aoba couldn’t help but moan wantonly, causing a return and pleased moan to rumble in obama’s chest and throat, adding vibrations to the mix. there was just enough pause so that the president could whisper huskily, “should i stop yet, my sapphire pearl?” aoba’s eyes were molten desire, half-lidded just for the man before him. “…don’t. please. i want more. i want it…” he was still shy about voicing his needs, even if this wasn’t their first time together. far from it, this had been going on for months, since the president had come to salvage what remained of this land, for the benefit of his own country. but of course, his plans had taken a slight deviation, because of aoba.

obama flicks his tongue over the places where his fingers have been, still connecting eyes with aoba above him. a small movement later, and obama was echoing with one of his hands on himself in the most intimate of places, what he was doing to aoba above. the groan he heard from aoba told him that the action had not gone unnoticed, and might be more than appreciated (or what he could take). a veritable feast for the senses, on all accounts. 

minutes fly by before obama is pulled back up on top of and over the mullet prince. they reunite with more kisses, waging a galactic battle of mouths the likes of which have only been seen by seasoned porn stars. “i’m going to make you cum with my power drill, my moonbaby,” obama growled into that dramatical mullet, causing a fresh rush of moistness to run up and out both of their love muscles. they had, by the sound of the commotion outside, at best another ten minutes left, but that was long enough. and if it wasn’t…well, fuck it. they were both powerful enough to do whatever the hell they wanted anyway. rules are for fools, you know?

anyway, obama put his mouth on aoba’s chest and sucked a nipple into his mouth, resulting in an unidentifiable sound from the other. grinning right against his chest, his teeth to nip at the skin gently, pulling another moan out. his hands circle his back, holding his precious doll in place as he moved his attention to the other nipple, but not before blowing gently on the first erect nipple, and making it to pucker impossibly more.

neither can wait much longer at this point. “now,” they both nearly beg simultaneously. they chuckle at that and begin to grind against each other ruthlessly. obama laughs again, “impatient little thing,” he teases but complies, aligning his millennium rod to aoba’s sauna-cavern, and sliding inside inch by erotic inch (and there are like, 16 inches, so it takes a while). it was so wet from their foreplay that it was an easy fit, as smooth as a flight from san francisco to new york on a clear day. aoba sucks him in all way to the hilt as it stretches him intimately. aoba’s arms encircle obama’s neck and hold them together with as much contact as this position allows, chest to chest, stomach to stomach.

obama’s dna rifle filled him up repeatedly as they rocked back and forth together, lazily pushing into one another to start, shuddering. “you feel so good, my petal. i need this so bad,” the most high god-king muttered. the pace of the thrusting quickened steadily, but even then, it wasn’t enough. neither could stand to wait, with what sick, sick love games they played earlier. surprisingly, it was aoba who took the lead this time, scratching haphazardly down the other man’s back, and clenching his internal organs to make them both feel a little bit more pleasure. it only took that to spur on the president. he couldn’t help it; not when it felt this damn good, and with his babydoll stretching around him in all the right ways. he was moving deeply within him, grazing the inner walls each time he even so much as hippy-hopped.

the sounds of groans and rough slapping of skin against skin filled the air, and it was starting to become harder to tell whose voice was the loudest, the most out of control. there was an out-of-control electricity in the room, and both were succumbing to something so primal, so animalistic, you would only catch it on a special on the national geographic channel. they were pressed so close together, so intimately in many forms, that even sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and rough handling (which they both would be feeling for at least the next few days) couldn’t detract from the experience. it was inevitable, then, that the climax for this show would be so soon, and indeed, it was only by sheer willpower that neither had given in to that siren call.

as obama felt aoba beginning to clamp around him, the sounds increased, the voices morphing into something inhuman, along with the speed of his yogurt slinger. it was too much. it was too much for him, like it was always too much for him; the combination of the sexy noises they were making, the gorgeous gem of a man on his cock lost in the throes of passion, and the spasms around his bologna pony are too intense and he releases, as deep inside of aoba as he can get. aoba follows suit, going over his peak harder and messier than he had ever done so before. their mutual orgasm is prolonged, stretched out through what seems like into eternity, where it’s just them, and this white-hot pleasure.

they laid there, spent, obama’s captain winky still buried fully inside aoba, and obama’s head on his shoulder. they breathed heavily, few thoughts able to be formed. the few thoughts that are formed are rational, both knowing that they must part in a few minutes, if not sooner by the sound on the front door. this rendezvous should have never happened, but they could not resist the chance to spend even one more night together. the world could burn all around them, but as long as they had this, it was all worth it. their respective countries could go to war, and their love would still reign above all else. as long as aoba had his chocolate lover’s smile to see (even if on television), and obama had his sweet, milk-toast angel’s daily messages of affection, they would be just fine. they would not be so greedy when important matters needed to be attended to.

well…almost not. they could spare a few extra minutes. or another round. what good was being president if you couldn’t abuse the power every once in a while?


End file.
